Jo Waterworth

Jo Waterworth has lived in Glastonbury for most of her adult life. She fits perfectly into a town full of misfits.
She has been writing and publishing poetry since the 1980s with a number of self-published pamphlets to her name – available from Unique Publications.
Jo reads at Fountain Poets in Wells, also performing as one third of the Glastonbury-based Strange Sisters. She is currently studying at Bath Spa University and teaching therapeutic creative writing for the charity In Touch.
Her pamphlet My Father Speaks In Poetry Too is published by PoetrySpace of Bristol in June 2013 ; she also guest- edited their Spring Showcase 2013.
Her latest venture is into e-publishing, as an editor and writer for an anthology about women’s lives,Thirteen Women, available on Amazon from June 1st 2013.
Jo has a blog here.
The poem below is from her new collection, and was short-listed for The Plough Prize.

ANOTHER SPRING

‘Do I look older?’ he asked.

‘I feel older.’

                       

                        He showed off

body frailties. Thin flaky skin.

Red bruising.

 

                        Under the clothes

his bones were bare.

 

Yet the face was still my father’s

until I came to leave

when it crumpled.

The three poems below have been published on-line at Hedgerow Poems.

WHAT ARE WE LEARNING TODAY?
It’s a good year for apples
and riots.
We sit in the garden,
discussing the family life of swallows.
Art, good coffee. A dragonfly.
Why can’t everyone have this?
‘They should bring back hanging,’
my neighbour says.
Watch. Listen. Sunshine and birdsong.
Looters. Arsonists.
Whose voices are heard? Whose are not?
The rosehips are hanging orange.
My inspiration, I say, is ancient tribal cultures.
It’s OK
I can remember lying on the earth
gazing at the blazing-with-wonder night sky
knowing I would not fall off.
Shining right back.
Let me hold your hand.

IN BED
She promises to make him a coat.
He promises to beat her carpets.
She kisses his little toe.
He kisses her breakfast bar.
She murmurs into his armpit.
He murmurs into her cellar.
She agrees to heaven on earth.
He agrees to a garage conversion.

2 thoughts on “Jo Waterworth

  1. Pingback: Please don’t give him socks | ways with words in the city of Wells

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